Calming the Highly Strung and Tightly Wound
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Based on a Kink Meme prompt. Everyone thinks that Clint is the one who keeps Natasha grounded. They're wrong. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this.


"Calming the Highly Strung and Tightly Wound"

"Coulson?"

Phil Coulson looked up at the unusually tentative voice at his office door. He knew who it was before he even saw her.

"What can I do for you, Agent Romanov?" he asked. "You've just come back from another mission, I heard. Sitwell did a good job."

"You were supervising him, weren't you?" Really, it wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I was hoping I could," she slipped into the room, and sidled up to his desk, "come over to your place tonight?" He hesitated. "Phil?"

That was the signal. Of course he wouldn't say no. "Sure. Medical give you the okay?"

"They couldn't find even a scratch."

"Good. I'll see you when I get home."

She nodded, and then left the office just as quietly.

* * *

"You're going out tonight?" Clint asked as Natasha walked past them all on her way to the elevator. She had a small bag with her.

"Yes," she said. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Say hi to him for me, will ya?"

"You already saw Agent Coulson today," she said. He grinned. It widened at the others' baffled looks. "Good night."

"What's she doing with Agent Coulson all night?" Steve asked, frowning as she left the room. "Isn't she your girlfriend?"

"Nat? Nope," Clint said, kicking back in the armchair. "She hasn't actually got a boyfriend."

"Then what's she doing with Agent Coulson?"

"Use your imagination, Rogers," Tony said, still trying to keep the remote away from Thor. Steve blushed.

"It's not like that," Clint said. "He's, like, the most relaxing person alive, and he keeps her grounded. He once complained that I just stirred things up. No. How did he put it? We were doing something – probably terrorising junior agents, just to wind down after a mission – and he said that we encouraged each other. Exacerbated the situation, or some shit like that."

"Clint!"

"Sorry, Cap. Some-thing like that."

Steve still looked disapproving. Clint tried to ignore it.

"So what do they do?" Tony asked. "Or do I have to pry it out of you?"

"I don't know, and I'd like to see you try. I mean, she's told me before. He calms her down, basically. You know, massage, meditation. I trailed them once, to a paintball place he'd hired out, just for the two of them. And no, I'm not allowed to go along with them. It's only for Nat."

"Paintball? Really?"

"Shut up, Tony. Like you never play electronic Solitaire."

Tony flipped him off. When he stuffed his hands under his thighs to keep them from Captain America's wrath, Thor finally grabbed the remote control.

* * *

Natasha lay face-down on Phil's bed, topless, her only clothing the underpants hidden by the towel. Phil was working the warm massage oil into the skin of her back, and she moaned when he hit a tight spot.

"That's it," she whispered. He laughed softly.

"No kidding," he said. She kicked his back with her heel, but just gently. No point in injuring the man currently working his usual miracles with her body. "I thought the mission went well?"

"You know what I had to do, what I hate to do."

He lightened his strokes, until it almost seemed like he was caressing her. "You only faked it, though."

"Of course. He was unconscious before any penetration could take place."

"Good."

"Is it?"

"Yes. You know I don't like anything bad to happen to you."

Natasha smiled into the pillow, glad he couldn't see. She couldn't help pushing back and arching up as he continued the massage. This was practically the epitome of satisfying when she had had to contort into odd positions for a mission. Practically, but not exactly.

"Phil," she said, lowering the tone of her voice. She moved her body with purpose now.

"Tonight?"

"Right now. Please? You don't have to, but—"

"I always know when you're going to ask anyway," he said, and he knelt up to reach over to his bedside cabinet. He fiddled around in the drawer, and pulled out lube and a condom. "You want to check?"

"Yes," she said, and hoped he heard the implied apology. It wasn't that she didn't trust him; but she made a habit of checking for holes or any other problems, and he insisted that she stayed in practise, just in case. Even if it wasn't for a mission; if she ever found someone she genuinely wanted to have sex with, she had to be prepared.

While she proceeded with her examination, he threw aside the towel and removed her underwear. She hissed when he began to stroke her. He was always so surprised to find that his massages had that kind of effect on her; she didn't know why he even bothered to bring out the lubricant. But he was a gentleman. Why else would he allow her to take such liberties?

"That's it, Phil," she said, and she whimpered as he hit just the right spot.

"Are you okay?"

Natasha nodded quickly, and pressed back. The heat his body gave off as he hovered over her, combined with his probing fingers and the brush of his lips on her upper back, caused a full-body shiver. The massage oil had already been absorbed; she wondered what it tasted like when Phil began to kiss her skin. They never kissed, so she had no way of knowing. She refused to kiss anyone outside of missions. Kisses meant feelings.

"Are you ready?" he whispered. She hesitated. When he touched that bundle of nerves, she bit her lip.

"Yes," she said through her teeth.

He paused, then encouraged her to open her legs further. She moved slowly, savouring the touch of his hands on her inner thighs, and raised her hips. Phil chuckled, and moved until she could feel him pressing down on her.

"Tell me if you feel trapped," he reminded her. He said it every time they did this.

"I will. Please." She arched, the fine hairs on his chest tickling her. Her head dropped to the pillow as he pushed in, and she moaned softly. "Yesssss."

"You feel wonderful. So wonderful." His left hand covered hers, and his right hand held her by the hip. "I'm so goddamned lucky to have y—"

Natasha gasped loudly, scrunching the pillow beyond recognition. Phil buried his face in her hair, groaning when she squeezed down on him.

"More," she said. "More, Phil. Harder. Please."

"Anything for you," Phil whispered. He stopped moving for a second, and Natasha began to look back to him. She barely caught his eye before he was nuzzling the nape of her neck, and increasing the power behind his thrusts. She turned back, letting herself be overwhelmed by the dual sensations of pleasure and safety, all while struggling for control.

Whenever Natasha truly climaxed, she was silent. She never gave anyone ammunition against her unless it was for a purpose. So she pressed her face into the pillow and let her keening die in the fabric. Phil swore, then breathed her name, and pulled out gently. She felt the bed dip where he rolled to the side. He moved again to dispose of the condom. She used that time to roll over, stretch, and make movements to get dressed.

"You can stay," he said, halting her with his voice alone. She hated it when he did that. "You're safe here."

"I know," she said. He didn't reply straight away.

"If you never intend to stay, why do you bring an overnight bag?"

She swallowed. His words made her feel more naked than she already way. "To pretend."

"Pretend what? No. I'm sorry. Don't answer that." She nodded, and began to pull on her clothes. "I presume you're planning to sneak back into the mansion."

"Of course."

"Because if you were really planning to spend the night at a motel to save face, it's my duty, as your former handler and current liaison, to tell you that it's a ludicrous idea, and you're free to crash here. If you want, I can take the couch."

"If I didn't know any better, sir, I'd say that it sounds like you want me to stay for the night," she said. Reverting to 'sir' was the signal that things were back to business.

"Didn't I say that I don't want anything bad to happen to you? Natasha… Agent Romanov, if you think you're at risk here for whatever reason, then by all means, go. I hate the thought of making you uncomfortable—"

"It's not you, sir. I'll return to the mansion. Check with JARVIS later, if you want."

When she finally looked at Phil, he was dressed again, pyjama shirt open to halfway down his chest. Never a hair out of place. It almost hurt her female pride that she never affected him to the point that he looked messy or flustered.

"I won't," he said. "I trust you."

"I trust you, too," she said, and she gave him a small smile, which he returned immediately. "You're the only one who never even tries to keep any secrets from me, not without explanation."

On anyone else, the tiny movement would mean nothing; on Agent Coulson, it nearly looked like his smile had faltered. But it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and she wasn't going to ask him about it.

This time, she rounded the bed, bent down, and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you," she said. "You're a good friend."

* * *

Nick was used to Phil calling him if a mission was taking longer than usual. It was no different now that he was spending half his time at the Avengers mansion.

"You're pathetic, Coulson," Nick said.

"Thanks for the support, sir."

"I don't know how long you think you can keep this from her."

"If she hasn't figured it out by now—"

"Then it's because she doesn't know that you even have a secret. Or she's figured it out, and doesn't want to talk about it."

"Really. You're a great help."

"Got a message while you were talking; Barton said they already had a check-up on the `jet; there were no injuries. The delay was due to bad weather. They should be home soon."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Good to hear. Eventually."

"If you weren't being whiney-ass to me, I could've told you sooner."

"Bullshit. Sir."

Nick flipped him off happily (for Nick Fury). "See you tomorrow, agent."

"Director." He hung up, and shut down the screen. Sighing, he placed it on the coffee table, and then rubbed his face, with special focus on the bridge of his nose. "Damn it."

"Coulson."

It was rare anyone got the drop on him; but Phil leapt to his feet when he heard the voice behind him, preparing for battle before he even recognised the speaker. He relaxed his stance, steadying his breathing.

"Agent Romanov," he said. "The mission went well?" She nodded sharply. "Barton?"

"Shower."

"Good." She didn't make any further moves. Time ticked on. "Do you need something? Maybe you should just go to b—"

"What aren't you telling me?"

"…What do you mean?"

"Director Fury implied that you were keeping a secret from a woman. Look me in the eyes, and tell me that it's not me."

Phil knew he could do it; but she would know anyway. "I can't do that."

"Then I can't trust you anymore." He flinched internally. "You are the only one who has ever been fully honest with me; even Barton has his secrets. But you; you are the only one in my life who has never kept a secret not related to work. Is this related to work?"

"No."

She didn't seem surprised. "I hope you have a very good reason, because you have lost my trust completely."

He was unable to stop himself as he moved forward, hand outstretched. "Natasha, no. Not that. Just… I really do have my reasons. It's something I don't want to bother you with. It would make things awkward. I swear, I never meant… You weren't supposed to find out. You were never… It's not your fault, it's all mine, you shouldn't have to deal with this…" He dropped his arm helplessly. She'd pulled away before he could make contact; now he just looked like an idiot. "I'm sorry. Your trust is precious to me. Please don't let this change things."

"You refuse to tell me—"

"Fine!" He threw up his hands, a dangerous thing to do around an assassin, but she made no hostile moves. "I'll… if that's what it takes, I'll tell you. Only… please don't think any less of me for this."

She shook her head slowly. "You're the only one who makes me feel calm—"

"And you're the only one who makes me feel alive!" He breathed in and out slowly. "That's my secret."

"I… I don't understand."

"Do I have to spell it out?"

He looked at her desperately, willing her to work it out. When all seemed lost, he allowed some of his true feelings to show on his face.

It worked within seconds.

"Oh," she said, eyes widening gradually.

"With you, I feel like a real person. I'm Phil, not Agent Coulson. I'm a man, not a workaholic robot like everyone jokes." He laid it out as much as he could without admitting the one thing he could never confess to a woman who was so adamantly against those kinds of emotions. "You're a remarkable woman, and the fact that you trusted me so much, when I don't deserve it at all, makes you even more remarkable in my eyes."

"Oh."

"I'm genuinely sorry that I betrayed that trust." He sighed, twisting his fingers together, and finally dropping his gaze to his sock-covered feet. "You deserve better than that."

"Do I?"

It made a change from 'oh', at least. "Yes, you do. I only ask that you don't let this affect our working relationship. I can assure you that I am capable of being entirely professional. I have for the past four years; I can continue to do so."

"Four years?"

He smiled at her, wryly, amused by her look of astonishment. "It's been nearly five years since we started doing this… thing, where I act as your calming influence. You've been working with SHIELD for six-and-a-half."

"You've been hiding this from me for four years?"

"Give or take a couple of months."

"That's… incredible. And a blow to my self-esteem. No one else has managed that before."

"I'm a very good agent."

"And Phil is very good at keeping secrets." He winced, and looked away again.

"It's time I got some sleep," he said, and he picked up the StarkPad. "Good night, Agent Romanov. Again… I'm sorry."

He was almost at the door when he felt a small hand slip into his own. He looked at Natasha, surprised.

"I think it is time for bed, Phil," she said, not exactly looking at him. It was a sideways look, one which made his heart swell with hope. He couldn't have what he really wanted; but maybe he'd get more than he thought he could ever have, and that was enough.

"Are you sure, Natasha?"

"Yes," she said, and they were in the elevator before he realised they were even moving. She pressed the button for her floor. "I'm on birth control pills, although I believe they are unnecessary with me."

"What are you saying?" he asked cautiously.

"Do I have to spell it out?" she said, repeating his words of ten minutes ago. He chuckled lightly.

"You might," he said.

The moment she did 'spell it out' in his ear, he had to grip the railing so thoughtfully provided by Stark. From the smirk on Natasha's face, Phil could tell that his eyes were already darkening rapidly.

The ping of the elevator arriving at the correct floor couldn't come quickly enough.

* * *

**It's been ages since I wrote het smut. Last time would've been for Harry Potter fan fiction, probably pairing Hermione with some Death Eater. Sounds like me (and my twisted, twisted mind).**

**I really will ship Phil with practically anyone. Despite my foremost allegiance to the SS Capsicoul, with the SS Iron Tazer recently joining my personal fleet, I also like this pairing. I've only dabbled with it twice, once in a FrostIron fic, and once in my Christmas fic; and being a Darcy-centric story it didn't get enough coverage. But I was inspired by this prompt on the Avengers Kink Meme.**

**Hope you enjoyed this. Please review!**


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